


Summer Rain

by abigail89



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drabble, Fluff, M/M, Masturbation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-07-01
Updated: 2006-07-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 13:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10787940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abigail89/pseuds/abigail89
Summary: It's better in the rain.





	Summer Rain

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: Written for the harry_and_ron First Lines Challenge on LJ. June 2006  


* * *

It's because of the summer heat but also the torrential rain that causes Harry to strip the sodden t-shirt off so quickly. His hands pave a course through the dripping strands of his thick, unruly hair-not even the pouring rain can flatten the mop. His glasses fog in the heat and humidity, and he pulls them off too, tossing them carelessly onto the forgotten shirt. The rain runs down his naked torso in shimmering rivulets, the light brown areoles a sharp contrast to the marble-pale skin. The small thatch of wiry black hair between the toned pectoral muscles straightens and waves with the flowing water.   
  
His head is thrown back, eyes closed, arms wide open, as if in worship. His lips thin against the onslaught; the tip of a pink tongue darts our, licking the accumulation of water, and he drinks it in. A small smile graces his lips then. Perhaps the rain tastes of one of his favorite drinks: sweet pumpkin juice, the slight bitter of a gin and tonic, or just cool, clear water. Harry always did like the water than ran through the pipes at Hogwarts; he often wondered where it came from-the dark loch or the rushing stream nearby or a spring far beneath the castle bedrock.   
  
Again, he smoothes back his saturated hair, but this time, instead of allowing his hands to fall to his side as before, they begin to follow the lines of his body. They trace a circular pattern over the high plane of his bare chest, skim over his hardened nipples, and down and over the flat stomach. Harry has filled out over the years, but he's hardly flabby. Nor is he cut like a prized athlete. His body is just firm. Healthy. He stretches, and his hands rub over the flexing muscles. They linger, as if he's enjoying the taut feel.   
  
And then, they part ways. His left hand travels back up the center, up the sternum and to his right nipple. The long, slender fingers close around the small button and they tweak it-once, twice, thrice. He smiles, and only then does he look down at himself, as if he needs visual confirmation of what he's touching. His smile broadens as the fingers continue their playful squeezing.  
  
His right hand-his dominant one-though, continues to stroke his stomach and then it, too, travels. Lower. Over the top of his drenched denim shorts. Past the button. Following the placket of the zip. To the slight bulge. His hand grips it, and gives it a generous tug. The smile becomes feral. His dominant hand balls up around his erection-once, twice, thrice-and the fist grows larger his cock swells.   
  
Slowly, his back arches as his hands work the hardened parts of his body. In the pouring rain, his body radiates health, and sexuality, and confidence; his pale skin luminous, incandescent against the silver gray of the summer shower.   
  
Then, his hands come together, and they work the button, the zip--the denim parts--slides down rain-slicked legs, arse, knees--boxers follow the same path. He kicks them both away in exultation. And then--  
  
And then he's at one with world around him, completely at ease with it and himself. His hand, his right, finds his engorged cock and it slides over the head, down the shaft, around the hair-covered bollocks and up through the thicket of blackest hair and down the shaft again. And again. And again. He throws his head back, eyes shuttered, enjoying the feeling of the rain on his face and the heat on his body and his hand on his cock and ... 

Ron gulps.

Ron is amazed at the sight of Harry, in the garden, in the rain, _starkers_ , and _wanking_ , and _smiling_. It's not that he's never seen Harry naked, or wanking-and god, yes, smiling that brilliant, easy smile.   
  
It's the first time he's seen Harry so free, and so at ease with everything around him.   
  
_This is the way it should be. Harry standing in the garden of our house, in the pouring rain-naked, wanking, smiling. And enjoying it._  
  
It's because of the summer heat but also the torrential rain, and the sight of his lover standing naked in their garden with his heavy cock in his hand, and his arse raised as if in invitation, that causes Ron to strip faster than he's ever done before.  
  
And he runs out into the rain.  
  
*~*  



End file.
